


"i'm working on it."

by penceyprat



Series: love, and other things you make me mad enough to try [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Jughead Jones, Bisexual Archie Andrews, Coming Out, Dealing with their feelings, Feelings, First Kiss, Fourth of July, Jealousy, M/M, Secrets, so much angst poor jughead bless his heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 17:32:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10496076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceyprat/pseuds/penceyprat
Summary: the nights are longer now. the air tastes bitter and the cold chill bites heavy at their lips. perhaps now there are holes in his skin, moulds for archie to fit his fingers in. but jughead doesn’t know if he wants that. not now. not ever. perhaps that was how they went wrong.





	

the nights are longer now. the air tastes bitter and the cold chill bites heavy at their lips. perhaps now there are holes in his skin, moulds for archie to fit his fingers in. but jughead doesn’t know if he wants that. not now. not ever. perhaps that was how they went wrong.

archie is soft and silent. features painted in grace and dipped in moonlight. riverdale is out there somewhere, beneath them, living, breathing, in colours they’d long forgotten. archie’s fingers move from fret to fret: the guitar is like an extra limb, another body against his own. jughead watches.

the air is thick with words unspoken and he can still taste burger grease on his lips. at pop’s things had been all smiles; it had been easy to divulge himself with betty’s eyes and veronica’s smiles, and a chorus of laughter like a swarm of fireflies. but now there’s nothing left.

there’s archie and the moonlight. cracked lips and hungry eyes. eyes not hungry enough. not hungry in the way he needs them to be. lips drying out alone.

he wonders if archie can feel the weight of his gaze. and what he might do about it. jughead wonders what he might do about himself, about cracks under his skin and the world caving in night by night. because archie is all he has left as the nights draw in. and he wants to drink him in like the ocean drinks the sun.

but all he can think of is summer height and fireworks and curse words and miss grundy. a buzzing emptiness. an echo. questions. questions. what did he do wrong?

archie snaps. golden boy’s dark eyes shine golden in the moonlight. jughead wants to drown in them. to drown in anything, in the air thick and impervious, just to avoid the words rolling off his tongue. because his mind moves in a one track system now. archie. miss grundy. archie’s tongue. archie’s hands. archie’s words. archie’s promises. archie’s songs. miss grundy.

winter forced bloody knuckles into the cracks in his skin, but still july 4th will never leave. it’s an echo. a whimper. a shadow of back when jughead no longer knew where he began and archie ended. back when he didn’t have to think about competing, about miss grundy, about archie’s hands moving deftly from fret to fret and the way it made his head spin.

“jug…” it’s a tentative drawl. like he’s coming down from a high he’s pressed close to his chest.

he can only wonder if archie spoke to her like that. if that was his july 4th voice. if those soft eyes were spent on her too.

“jughead.” archie tries again. the guitar slides from his lap. onto the bed. the night twists its arms between them, and archie almost has to fight through his own bedroom. he joins jughead on the windowsill nonetheless. his presence feels like an empty promise.

jughead bites his fingernails. casts a look out to the moon and tries to look brooding. thoughtful. contemplative. meaningful. worthy of golden boy’s golden eyes. 

archie doesn’t look at him. archie looks at the moonlight spilling out onto the windowsill and casting shadows upon the carpeted floor. his gaze drifts only to the lint in the carpet and the holes in jug’s jeans.

jughead pulls his legs into his lap. he doesn’t think archie deserves to look at him like that. but archie does. archie looks. because not even now does jughead have it in him to stop him.

there isn’t a world in which he could say no to archie andrews. it’s nights like these. when they play games of hide and seek and slow dance with their eyes. that he thinks he might understand miss grundy. just a little.

this time. archie gives up.

jughead’s name is broken upon him. jughead wishes it could have been the very word to carve cracks into archie’s lips. he wants to leave a mark. to matter. to be more than a night time moment. a fleeting thought at the end of the world.

this time. archie just talks.

like they’re young and sick with summer height. like they still have the time.

“i think i’m bisexual.”

archie says it, like that’s a thing he can do.

jughead’s world spins, because that’s what archie does. but not just to him, to people like miss grundy too. it had made him feel special once, but now it only speaks like a curse.

but then archie is watching him. with dark eyes, so soft they might break. for once, he watches jughead as if he is the one with all the answers. jughead jones with his muddy boots, and holes in his jeans, and cracks in his lips where his teeth sink in. jughead jones with no home to go to, and no one to become.

he looks at him.

“i think i’m bisexual.” archie says it again, as if it had not been heard.

jughead nods, somber, stiff. “i know.”

archie caves. spirals. he’s at his feet. with hands in his head. hands at his hips. hands up in the air. and eyes cast with the red lights below, as if it to set a fire within them. he’s pacing back and forth: words are spent upon them, for archie is all motions, forever running with the world, for that is what he must do to stay on top of it.

it was long ago that jughead gave in and let himself sink down to the bottom of the barrel. but it was never his world to begin with.

“what do you mean you know?” archie’s chest hammers back and forth. a fish gasping for breath.

jughead wonders if he’s hurting. wonders if things could ever quite feel right.

archie snaps his neck back towards the windowsill. jughead is nothingness. pale and bathed in moonlight. he’s drowning out there. archie can feel it.

“jughead, talk to me.” he raises his voice, his eyes burn and his nostrils flare. he paces. back. forth. back. forth. the carpet yields to his feet. back. forth. back. the clock strikes midnight. forth.

archie pins his eyes onto jughead’s chest. like this, he can almost reach his heart. but jughead knows archie andrews like the shore knows the tide. he’s not angry. he’s scared.

“i know you’re bisexual.” jughead says. but archie doesn’t need to hear those words aloud. he needs to know it’s okay. he needs to know jughead thinks it’s okay. because archie’s scared. like jughead’s been for months.

he knows it’s selfish, but jughead wants, desperately, just for a minute or two, for them to sharing that feeling. 

emptiness inside his chest. heart like shards of broken glass. imminent looming doom. thoughts traced back over one another searching for constant cracks.

the silence is stretched until it snaps. archie fits his body back onto the windowsill: sitting his back against the curve of the wall. he’s trembling - fingertips to toes.

jughead watches him. like it’s all he knows to do.

the moon dives under a cloud, and for a terrible moment they are cast all in shadow. archie is distant. only centimetres away. jughead closes his eyes and wishes he could live like that.

he feels the moon fall back upon his skin; he can hear archie’s sigh of relief - he can almost taste it.

but jughead keeps his eyes closed. and finally, upon the wing of the world’s longest minute, says it.

“i’m asexual.”

even through closed eyelids, he can feel the way archie stares.

“jug, that’s-“

he opens his eyes. archie andrews is smiling at him. like he used to. like july 4th still meant a thing.

and then jughead snaps. because fuck it. it’s his turn.

“why did you ditch me for miss grundy?” his voice is the loudest it’s been since pop’s. it scares them both. “i mean, not even a call, a text, a ‘hey jug-“

“i’m sorry.” archie is earnest. but they both know it isn’t good enough.

“why?” jughead twists the word around his lips like an arrow through the wind.

archie blinks. as if the concept is foreign to him.

jughead repeats himself. “why?”

this time, archie closes his eyes. maybe it’s his turn too.

“because it was easier.” the word is a strain upon his lips: a weight that crushes them both. jughead realises then that he is with archie on this one, whether he wants to be or not. “to be with her than to be with you- i… i don’t know… everything-“

“it was easier to lie to your friend? to your best friend? to me, archie?” because somehow even best friend didn’t cut it.

archie shakes his head, and hunched his shoulders low. “no, it was easier to lie to myself.”

jughead is silent. not silent like before. he isn’t angry anymore. this time he’s scared.

“about how i felt about you.” the words are a weight on both of their chest. yet archie speaks without hesitation. “it was easier to fall for her than it was to accept that i was falling for you.”

and jughead feels like he’s falling. not in love. jughead doesn’t think he does love. like a rock through an ocean. forever sinking.

“i’m asexual.” jughead repeats, as he nears the bottom. as if archie hasn’t heard him.

“you don’t feel the same it’s-“

“no, archie.” jughead’s voice is bold, sharp, everything he isn’t. “it’s not okay.”

archie seems to cower within his shell. jughead draws out a sigh. they’d forever gotten it all wrong.

“it’s not okay. because i don’t think i can love you. not in the way you need me to.” and jughead looks at archie like they’re kids and every road leads home. but perhaps some still do.

because archie smiles and shakes his head, like it’s summer. one long gone. and he’s trying to shake the heat.

“i don’t need anything from you.” it’s a lie.

jughead shakes his head, and sinks his fingernails into his skin, scarring his thighs through the holes in his jeans. he almost wants archie to say something. something that might mean anything at all.

“i can’t give you want she did.” jughead tears his eyes up to archie’s; the silence tears around them. “i can’t be your summer fuck.”

the word rolls like poison from his lips.

archie is entranced. like jughead’s a canary bird he’d longed to hear sing.

“but you’re not that.” archie offers his best smile; his best bet. “you’re…”

it’s then that they both realise that neither of them know who they are anymore.

“jughead.” he says his own name in the end. perhaps it’s the last thing he can claim to himself. for there’s this black hole in his chest where his heart should be, and it moves like a hurricane, tearing up the earth where he walks and everything he’s ever loved in it.

jughead fears, for a terrible, terrible moment, that it’s uprooting archie too. for his eyes grow dark like he’s lost contact with himself, and his skin goes pale as if overwhelmed with a sickness. but still he says something more.

“i want you.” the words tug at both of them: leaving splinters upon exposed hearts. “whatever you want to give.” archie amends.

jughead shrugs into his chest, his adam’s apple bops in his throat as he swallows. archie watches it. archie watches him. he’s not used to that.

“it’s not enough.” jughead tells himself. it’s just archie that happens to overhear. “whatever i can give you. it’s not enough.”

“no.” archie shakes his head. like this is something he can be certain of. “it’s… it’s more complicated than that. i know it’s… a wild possibility, but maybe i don’t always think the way you think i do.”

jughead scoffs. it’s a possibility that amuses them both. “it’s always complicated with you.”

“it’s not sex.” he’s tentative, as if he fears jughead might tremble at the mention of the word. jughead doesn’t because he’s sixteen years old and archie andrews is wrong. and naive. and hopeless. but beautiful.

“i just want to be with you.” archie admits, like the truth still scares him. “however you want to be with me. if you even want that at all. but i think you do. because i’m not blind, jughead. i can feel the way you look at me.”

jughead laughs, like he’s young and dumb and carefree.

“and what are you going to do when it’s not enough anymore? when i’m not enough anymore? are you going to throw me back-“

“jug.” archie is wide eyed and insistent. with that same look in his eyes from when they were kids. it almost has jughead trusting him again.

“you think there’s something wrong with you, don’t you?” and then archie’s words come and gut him like a knife. one last time. “because you’re not interested in sex, you think-“

“don’t tell me what i think.” jughead snaps, even though archie’s right. he just wants him to stop. he wants the words out of his head. he wants archie’s voice out of his head. even though it’s been ringing in his ears for months now.

“jug, i… i don’t care.” archie’s exasperated, eyes heavy and cautious. “i… just want… us… before… how we were, but all over again. new again. maybe who we were. but this time with…” archie trails off. “with kissing? i want to kiss you.”

it takes him months, but archie andrews finally says it aloud. 

“i want to kiss you, jughead.”

and jughead sighs, and smiles, like he can’t tie his hands around his throat any tighter, because sometimes push comes to shove. because he does too.

“it’s complicated.” he says instead, to avoid the truth. because his feelings are like a noose tied around his neck: not something he can risk jumping into.

archie nods like he understands. it would be a good facade if jughead wasn’t lying too.

“i’m bisexual.” he finishes, getting to his feet. “i needed to get it off myself chest.” he nods at jughead like he understands.

and jughead lets him think he does. lets him turn away. lets the shadows breathe him in. but jughead doesn’t let archie leave. not this time.

“archie.” his voice cracks, the cold creeps in around him.

golden boy turns on his heels, and his eyes squirm under jughead’s own. there are holes. holes in their skin both. holes jughead only now knows what to do with.

“i want to kiss you too.”

and the breath leaves his throat and takes half the world with it. but jughead lets it all go, for there’s this black hole inside his chest, and piece by piece it’s spitting out all it took.

and like the shore and the tide, they meet again, and cling for life.

jughead’s got these holes inside of him. it takes a lot to admit, but these are holes he needs help feeling. words, however, escape him. but he says it instead. with his lips.

and at once, they are singing the same song.

one of summer, of roads running home, and endless days, and litres of lemonade, and dizzying smiles. they’re running home, mile by mile, with jughead’s hands in archie’s hair, and archie’s arm around jughead’s waist.

it’s complicated still, for the world will never quite bend to their will. but archie flashes jughead a smile that seems to say ‘i’m working on it’.

**Author's Note:**

> soz if this is bad / doesn't make sense lol i wrote it in like 1hr i got school tomorrow its half 11 and like 67 other things i should be doing including sleeping but,,, i had some emotions
> 
> comments would be super nice tho !! :)


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